


Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

by Chimetals



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimetals/pseuds/Chimetals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hideyasu's training days with Oren, and some discoveries about himself. Every chapter is a new day and/or event.</p><p>The French is admittedly from google, so if there's a better word to use or I screw up, let me know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Firstly, we must discuss what you did to your _camarade_ "  
Hideyasu didn't try to hide his disbelief at his new mentor's words.  
"That has nothing to do with fighting--"  
"Oh non non non--fighting starts with the mind.” Oren strode about Charmant’s kitchen, gesturing about. To Hideyasu, it looked like he was trying to tie the various kitchen tools to his speech. “Otherwise, how do I know you won't do the same to me one day?"  
"Because you'll kick my ass if I try?" Hideyasu grumbled. Oren whipped his head around to give his mentee a glare that suggested he'd beat him _now_ for his snark. The younger boy's eyes widened at the sudden change in attitude, a nervous smile spreading across his lips.  
"Or we can begin with the _rigorous_ physical conditioning, if you prefer?"  
"No thank you." Hideyasu decided he'd rather put whatever _that_ entailed off as long as possible. "Sir." He added for good measure. His mentor narrowed his eyes, but his mood abated.

"Now, your friend--"  
"Acquaintance," Hideyasu corrected. Oren raised his eyebrows, partially in disbelief at the claim, but mostly as a threat. Hideyasu clamped his mouth shut.  
"--you do not stay together for so long without gain without some sort of bond. Unless you were _amoureux_?" The younger boy blinked at the unknown French.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Did you, or did you not sleep together?"  
"I've stayed at his place a few times, if that’s what you--” Hideyasu’s cheeks flushed as he realized that crashing on Hase’s couch was _not_ what the patissier meant. “--no, that’s not, we--we didn’t do anything like…. _that_.” he stammered. Oren studied his expression for a moment before responding.  
“Then you were friends.”  
“Ah… yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie--not exactly. The memory of strawberries and whipped cream on his lips whispered that they might have been something more, but Hideyasu pushed those thoughts down. He had decided on this path, decided to cut ties with Hase, and thinking about what he may or may not have meant to the other boy would get him nowhere.

Even if Hideyasu could still remember every crease in Hase’s cheeks when he smiled that dopey grin of his.

Oren picked up a bowl from one of the kitchen counters, added some white powder from another bowl, and handed it and a whisk to Hideyasu.

“Beat that.”  
“Eh?”  
“Use the whisk before it begins to clump!” Oren ordered; Hideyasu began frantically moving the tool in the bowl.  
“What does this have to do with fighting???” The patissier shot the boy a glare before speaking again in what Hideyasu was quickly learning was his lecturing voice.  
“I said we would start with the mind, did I not? Cooking and cleaning reflect the state of the person doing them--you will do the tasks I tell you, until the results are satisfactory enough to move to the next stage.”  
It sounded like a lot of bullshit to get free grunt labor, but Hideyasu kept silent this time; he had no way of knowing when his behavior would make Oren revoke his decision to mentor the younger rider.  
“Bring that to me when you are done.” The patissier left without a glance back; incredulous, Hideyasu stared after him with an open mouth, forgetting briefly to keep stirring. Done? He had no idea what ‘done’ even meant. Hideyasu had barely made a cake from a box with icing from a jar, and even that had ended in disaster.

Irritated, he stirred the mixture rapidly, until his arm was tired and he couldn’t determine if it was changing or clumping or not clumping anymore. Trying to look submissive and friendly, he left the kitchen to show Oren. The patissier barely glanced at it before passing judgement.

“You’re too impatient. It’s frosting, not the whipped topping you put on your frivolous drinks.”

Hideyasu gritted his teeth and tried not to let his indignation show on his face. The mental training was proving to be like meditation or religion for Hideyasu--a nonsensical waste of time to either haze out newcomers or procrastinate the actual lessons. Still, Oren’s accuracy was eerie.

“Come with me, boy.”

Oren led his mentee through the doors and back to the kitchen, this time combining several other ingredients--what was presumably in the bowl initially--with the white powder from before, and handing the new bowl to Hideyasu.

“Do it again.”

He left the room once more, and the young rider was left with his bowl and his building frustrations. He took a deep breath and began to stir again, deliberately moving slower. The result looked identical to before as far as Hideyasu was concerned, but figuring that Oren would see some difference, he headed for his mentor.

“Loathing and anger will not sweeten a cake, child.” He gave Hideyasu’s work a dismissive sniff. “Go scrub the dishes in the sink, and when you’ve cooled down, come back.”

The rider attempted to retain his wrath through the menial labor, taking out his frustrations on the frilly plates, but exerting himself physically gave him a sort of runner’s high. Besides, the tower of dishes he had scrubbed was rather impressive, now that they were no longer submerged in the large sink. He winced--a slight feeling of pride had been creeping up on him. Pride, over some cleaned dishes. With a huff, he turned back to the soapy water as Oren entered the kitchen and picked up one of the cleaned plates. The older rider sighed as he examined Hideyasu’s handiwork.

“Non non non, this isn’t clean at all.” he dropped it back into the water his mentee was fishing silverware from. As the younger rider watched in disbelief, Oren sifted through the dishes, seeming to toss every third one back into the sink. Seething, Hideyasu scrubbed his renewed anger out on the rejected dishes when his mentor left again.

For several days, Hideyasu could handle no more than dishwashing and floor-scrubbing duty. Every time he thought he could deal with Oren and his godforsaken bowl again, the patissier would stroll in, dismiss part if not all of Hideyasu’s work, and force him to do it again, renewing his anger.

Emotionally exhausted, Hideyasu was about ready to give up when Oren called him away from drying plates and pushed the bowl back into his hands. Hideyasu stared at it despondently for a few seconds; Oren moved behind him, and placing his hands over Hideyasu’s, gently whisked the contents of the bowl a few times.  
“Think of your friends while you mix it.” Oren instructed gently as he let go, “you can do it, boy.” with that, he left the kitchen.

Hideyasu moved the whisk mechanically a few times, continuing the motion Oren had began, as much as he could. It was stupid, it was so stupid, cooking was a science and as long as you measured and timed everything properly, it would come out perfectly every time, and yet--he didn’t have the energy left to care. He’d leave if he could, but going while defeated so miserably--Hideyasu wasn’t sure if he could recover, or if his current numbness would continue if he left, haunting him.

And so he gave up.

He tried to think of his friends, or who Oren would call his friends. Team Invitto--they probably all hated him now, actually, leaving so suddenly, turning tail and joining this strange patissier; they loved the cakes here, though. Everyone did, and yet--when was the last time one of his ex-teammates had spoken to him? They’d certainly seen him ducking in and out of the kitchen, heading to and from work, or even around the neighborhood.

Hideyasu took a deep breath and decided to stop thinking about them; his team liked the same style of dance that he did, but otherwise, had they really ever had anything in common? Maybe… one of the other riders. He paused--no one came to mind. Hase, maybe. But he hadn’t spent much time with anyone else from another team. And Hase…

If the girls from Invitto hated Hideyasu, then Hase’s feelings for him couldn’t be expressed in words. Hideyasu’s stirring slowed as he remembered the way the other boy had kissed him so suddenly in the forest, before fighting the white rider. He remembered how fast his heart was pounding as he watched Hase charge into battle to protect him, although even now he couldn’t be sure if it was from the fear of death at the hands of the unknown rider, or the sudden intimacy from his partner.

He remembered how Hase’s lips still tasted like the parfait he had eaten before the lockseed-collecting competition--strawberries and bananas and that hint of whipped cream.

And after that--the next time he saw Hase was when Baron was challenging Raid Wild’s stage. When Hideyasu spoke acidic words to the boy that maybe loved him--how had Hase felt? When his weakness was rubbed in his face--he, who had always protected Invitto’s scrawny leader, being mocked instead of having the favor returned?

Dully, Hideyasu realized he had stopped stirring completely; looking down, he could see the mixture clumping slightly. He numbly walked to the metal island in the middle of the kitchen and set the bowl down; when Oren returned, he found his mentee sitting on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, hugging his knees to his chest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The day after Hideyasu's breakdown, Oren began giving him physical conditioning. He wasn't sure why, as his attempts at mixing icing all ended in failure, but he was grateful nonetheless; he could at least understand this training. Pushups, running, kicking exercises--they were all more concrete than using emotions to stir something, and Hideyasu had been mentally prepared for this kind of spartan treatment from the moment he asked Oren to teach him.

Still, it didn't make him physically prepared for the patissier's orders; he was in decent shape from being a dancer, but his new regimen was for someone going to war.

"Next!"

Oren called the moment Hideyasu's arms gave out during a pushup; it took a couple seconds before he could force his body into a standing position and hobble to the monkey bars. He had done a several rounds already--pushups, monkey bars, situps, then kicking, spaced on the playground so that he had to sprint between each task. Moreover, the path he had to take was through or over an obstacle each time.

Oren tilted his head as he watched Hideyasu stumble up the stairs to the slide.

"Boy!" He called out; when the younger rider glanced up wearily, Oren waved him over. He approached at what passed for a trot with his current energy; Oren hadn't done anything like timing the boy, but he had yelled whenever Hideyasu slowed down--his mentee had earnestly given the tasks everything he could as a result. It showed on his face, the way his tired eyes had a spark of hope that Oren was about to give him permission to go home.

His reaction to what the patissier was about to say, therefore, was of great interest to his teacher.

"Come at me."

Oren could see the gears in the kid's head turning, desperately trying to find another, less physical meaning in those words. When he couldn't, his disbelief and hurt made themselves known on his face.

"That... I..." he stammered. Oren waited, silently; the boy was bright--he knew by now that when his teacher said to jump, there was no question of how high. He just didn't like what that meant. It took a minute for him to sigh and get into something resembling a fighting stance.

With a glance, Oren knew the boy had never been formally trained. If anything, he had been taught by that Hase boy, as that brawler-esque stance was an imitation of something meant for someone of a sturdier build. At least he had adapted it to himself somewhat; it meant that Oren could continue with the training style he had planned.

Hideyasu charged with a right hook--it was far too wide, a showy punch that would accomplish nothing. Oren stepped into Hideyasu's space, grabbed his right shoulder and swept his legs out from under him with his left leg, depositing the boy unceremoniously in the dirt. The younger rider grimaced before wearily pushing himself up and resuming his stance. Oren was pleasantly surprised that he made no attempt to dust the dirt off of his clothes; he really was a clever one--he knew exactly where he would be for half of this training session.

He rushed forward again, aiming for the gut this time; Oren sidestepped and executed a maneuver similar to before. Hideyasu made an impressive thump as he hit the ground. He got up a little faster than the last time--he had gotten some of his energy back, but his overall stamina was next to nothing. Oren caught a glimpse of frustrated tears in the boy's eyes; Hideyasu wiped one away before it could spill onto his cheek, unintentionally marking his face with a streak of dirt in the process. He left the other one--he didn't want to look like he was crying.

That's what his mentor thought, at least, until Hideyasu threw the dirt in his unused hand at Oren's face before attacking. The older rider grabbed him by the belt and flipped him with it for variety. War had no rules, but the boy needed a better sense of honor; underhanded tactics would be greeted with similarly rougher counters. He would learn to think twice about his options--fighting dirty wouldn't automatically bring victory closer, and could just as easily rile up his opponents.

Again and again, Oren deposited his mentee in the dirt. The eighth time, Hideyasu didn't get up; he lay on the ground, panting, his eyes closed. The younger rider had been running on fumes for a while now, but it was emotional, not physical, exhaustion that left him unable to stand again; the training session was over.

"Boy." Oren called him gently, offering him a hand to help him up; Hideyasu opened his eyes and wearily took the hand. He made virtually no effort to move, letting his mentor pull him.

With such a pathetic appearance, Hideyasu's kick came as a total surprise to his mentor. It didn't have any power behind it, but it was quick enough to almost connect and trigger Oren's training. He stepped into Hideyasu, pulling on his arm, then stood and flipped him over his shoulder. The sudden height change caught the boy unaware and he yelped on the way down. His reaction was too slow, and his head hit the ground hard, knocking him out.

Oren folded his arms and tapped one finger on his cheek, re-evaluating his initial judgement of his mentee. His persistence up till now had been noticeable, but the level of determination that had shone through just now was...

As Hideyasu showed no signs of waking in the next minute, Oren pulled him onto his back and carried him back to Charmant.


	3. Chapter 3

Moving was out of the question.

That's what Hideyasu decided when he woke up, the morning after his first physical training session. Forget leaving the bed, _breathing_ hurt. The only parts of his body _not_ screaming at him to never, ever listen to the sadistic patissier again were his face and his dick, and he didn't want to train either of those parts with Oren.

Really, he'd rather roll over and go back to sleep, but the stupid sun was shining in his face, and he didn't feel like messing with the shades.

Wait. Sun?

Hideyasu bolted upright; he had a west-facing window. It was well into the afternoon. He snatched up his phone to check the time; he was supposed to have been at work several _hours_ ago now. Ignoring the complaints from his muscles, he scrambled into his pants and buttoned his shirt over the one he slept in, pulled his shoes on without bothering to untie them, and sprinted out the door.

He ran most of the way to Charmant, arriving out of breath. Oren was sure to abandon him, or to have assumed he ran away, or--Hideyasu decided to stop thinking about it, instead pushing open the door to the pastry shop.

"Oren, sir--" the patissier glanced up from behind the counter, examining his appearance inquisitively. "I, um, that's--I slept through my alarms, I didn't mean, I um" Hideyasu stammered, "I-I'm sorry I'm late, sir!"

"Boy," Oren sighed, "you've still got bedhead, you missed a button on your shirt--" he leaned in and whispered, "and your pants are unzipped." Hideyasu glanced down and flushed a bright shade of pink.

"Go home, boy." Oren dismissed him with a wave.

"But--"

"I don't need you when you’re at less than your best." As an edge of horror began to creep into his apprentice's expression, he added, "come back when you are _plein de vie_ again."

Hideyasu nodded hesitantly, then left; just before he turned, Oren saw that the fear in his eyes had been replaced with a tiny spark of hope. He smiled and shook his head fondly as the door's bell signaled the young rider's exit; he was an odd one, that was for sure--he'd betray his friend so cruelly, but was himself terrified of abandonment.


	4. Chapter 4

“We have somewhere to go, boy.” Hideyasu was barely in Charmant’s door when Oren spun him around and began marching him back out.  
"What?”  
“A job, a job!” the older rider announced in a singsong voice.  
“Why am _I_ going?”  
“Do you not want to take every chance to improve?” Hideyasu’s  bemused frown declared that he found the logic suspect, but went along anyway.

Oren led him to Yggdrassil, where a young woman with vibrantly pink lips and short hair greeted them and showed them into an empty room.  
“Oren Pierre Alfonzo.” A synthetic voice echoed through the speakers tucked around the room, “Yggdrasill would like to hire you for a new job.”  
“Oh?” The patissier responded playfully, “Asking for favors without even showing your face?”  
“It’s better for you if you don’t know who I am.” Try as he might, Hideyasu couldn’t place the voice--it was scrambled, distorted, but it sounded familiar. Then again, those sorts of voices always sounded familiar. “It’s for your sake.” The voice continued.

Hideyasu frowned; this job was already suspicious enough to walk out on, as far as he was concerned, but Oren still seemed interested for some godforsaken reason. The younger rider was about to suggest that they leave, when  
“Let me give you the new versions of the drivers.” the short-haired woman offered as she set two drivers on the table, as though they had been expecting Hideyasu as well as Oren. “Please use these from now on.”

Oren seemed as interested in the devices as his mentee.  
“So Yggdrasill created these funny toy belts…” he mused, picking up the driver with Bravo’s faceplate. Sure enough, as Hideyasu approached the drivers and picked up the other one, the remaining driver had a Gridon faceplate. He winced inwardly as he remembered his rider name--Hase’s taste sucked, but he knew no one would call him anything different, even if he tried to get it changed. That the driver was specifically made for him, as though Yggdrasill knew Oren would drag him along, sent chills down Hideyasu’s body, but a stronger driver was too good to pass up.

“Then…” Oren beamed, pacing and addressing the ceiling, “you guys must know that lovely, white melon boy’s identity and location, right?!” Hideyasu resisted the urge to roll his eyes; his mentor had no shame in this matter, it seemed.  
“Of course.” the synthetic voice responded. Gridon’s user eyed the ceiling in disbelief--this surely couldn’t _actually_ be happening. “If you perform well, we’ll reward you with that information.”

Hideyasu let out an exasperated sigh; he had no chance of Oren backing out of this deal now.  
“Oh _joie_!” The older rider solidified his mentee’s thoughts, “I’ll happily agree to those terms!” The younger rider whipped his head around to his mentor--what about a monetary payment?! Oren didn’t seem to care about such things anymore, “So, what is your request?”

“Recover the Sengoku Driver from Team Gaim’s Kouta Kazuraba. Of course, I have a plan prepared.” Oren didn’t seem to catch the oddity of their employer’s speech, but mentioning the dance team was somewhat unusual--Oren didn’t care enough about the teams to learn their individual names, so the information was pointless to mention, had he been the only one to appear. Photos, a schedule, an address--any similar information would be a better thing to provide, yet the synthetic voice had used his team. Regardless, Oren saluted their invisible employer, and the short-haired woman led them to another room to brief them.

She introduced herself as Yoko Minato, explaining that the plan would take place on the roof of the Takizawa third District building in Zawame New Town; Oren would fight Kouta while Hideyasu kept an eye on Kouta’s sister--all the way in Charmant.  
"--and while she is here, I expect her to be treated like _royauté_ , boy." the older rider added.  
" _Oui_ " Hideyasu grumbled with a twinge of sarcasm.

They returned to the pastry store’s kitchen, the earpieces they would be using for communication already in place.  
" _Mademoiselle_ Akira will arrive within the next couple hours. Until then--" Oren raised his chin and redirected his eyes to the side; Hideyasu followed his gaze to a pile of used dishes. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves in anticipation--at least it was easy, simple work. Seemingly reading his thoughts, his mentor added, "Caress them like your lovers, boy--!"

Hideyasu bit back a retort and reached into the sink for his first "lover". Once again, he couldn't fathom what ran through the older rider's mind. Hell, he hadn't kissed someone since middle school, let alone touched another person intimately. He didn't even think about his acquaintances in terms of the bedroom--not even the other members of his team, who had long since stopped being shy about changing around him.

He finished the first plate and reached for another, trying to conjure up his teammates naked forms. He knew their curves, skin color, which ones were lean and muscular, which ones had a bit of pudge and where; he knew how it felt to unhook their bras, who had skin like silk--moist and soft--and who felt more like the underbelly of a snake--dry, smooth, firm, and surprisingly nice to touch. He had seen the nipples of a third of his teammates--usually on accident, though some of them _really_ didn't care how much he saw.

They were certainly attractive enough, and yet... Hideyasu had never made a move on them--it was hard to, once he started hearing what they discussed. Gropers on the train, some drunk guy in an alley on their way home from cram school, a classmate with no sense of tact--some of the girls had originally been in other teams, particularly Red Hot and Raid Wild, now all-boys teams for various-but-understandable reasons. Hideyasu hadn't set out to make this harem-looking troop, but the next thing he knew, he was in the middle of a swarm of girls; Invitto had turned into a haven of sorts for them.

He set a freshly-cleaned cup on the drying rack--it was odd, but he wasn't worried about his team without him. Actually, one bad pickup line from him--and he knew many, from the stories the girls told--and his teammates would have left with the team name. They were a tough bunch, having carved their mark on Invitto as deeply as Hideyasu had, if not more so--the brown of their uniforms was his, the pink their idea, as was the cowboy theme. The dance style, too--the girls he founded the team with were the ones that first introduced Hideyasu to dance.

He scrubbed a few more dishes without thought before wondering who else he could visualize in their birthday suit. The list was admittedly on the short side--Hase, for example, had no sense of modesty whatsoever, and with the frequency with which Hideyasu had seen him exposed, it wasn't hard to recall his scars and healing bruises, or the details of his genetalia. Peco, strangely, made the list as well--the memory of his body wasn't as detailed, but one hot day at the Baron hangout without air conditioning...

Hideyasu still remembered how he and Hase, led by their new ally, Kaito, had walked in on Peco, naked and fanning himself with a flier on one of the couches. Kaito had barely raised an eyebrow at the slender boy before Zack had hollered for his teammate to "put on some fucking pants oh my god". He could still recall Zack's horrified expression as he strode past Kaito's new recruits, and the way the latter sighed quietly at the entire trainwreck. Hideyasu chuckled; it was always pleasant to remember that Team Baron wasn't as flawless as they liked to act.

"Hey--! New kid--!" Hideyasu glanced up from his work; one of Charmant's other employees was waving him over, "dry yourself off, the customer that Boss wants you to look after is here." The rider wiped off his hands and picked up the pre-made tray of assorted sweets that Oren had prepared and set aside for her in advance.

After he served Akira her complimentary platter, he decided to idle behind the counter--watching her meant not going back to the kitchen to clean dishes, after all. The bell on the door jingled suddenly, announcing new arrivals.  
"Welco--!" He started to call out out of habit, then saw who it was--his old teammates, or at least three of them. He crouched down below the glass display case counter as best he could--maybe they hadn't seen him. Or recognized his voice. He suddenly felt naked without his team uniform, but he'd chosen his allies and he intended to stick with them this time.

He just didn't want to face the ones he'd left behind.

"Leader!" A small chorus of excited voices babbled; Hideyasu cringed--they were sure to want answers he couldn't possibly supply. He could hear them first approaching the counter then trying to peer over it--even the littlest one.  
"Is this where you've been all this time?"  
"Why didn't you tell us you worked here?"  
"How come you never stop by!"

Hideyasu risked a glance up; his co-worker was eyeing him judgmentally, which meant that half the store was most likely staring now. He grimaced--he knew how this looked, three cute girls swarming a guy excitedly, but they really weren't like that!  
"You're quite the ladies man, _boy_ " the patissier-in-training made the last word a flawless imitation of Oren.  
"I'm busy right now, I'll come by later." He waved off his teammates as his earpiece crackled to life.  
“He’s coming as planned.” The synthetic voice announced over the radio.

“Just watch.” Oren’s voice commanded; it wouldn’t be long until their battle. A pause, and then, “right on time! Did you bring the belt as promised?” Hideyasu could only hear his allegiance’s side of the conversation; he did his best to focus on the tasks at hand, refilling Akira’s drink and offering her something else--on the house, of course--to keep her as long as possible. The silence over the radio was concerning; finally, Yoko’s microphone picked up Kouta’s voice.  
“--re you okay?” another pause, and then the loud sound of rustling clothing; Hideyasu tried not to cringe from the sudden noise as Yoko--the fake Akira--tried to wrestle Kouta’s driver from him. “What are you doing?!” His voice was distant now--he had broken away from Yoko.

She must have removed her disguise, because a moment later, Kouta’s voice came in faintly again.  
“You tricked me!”  
“You’re naive, boy.” Hideyasu could hear the smile in Yoko’s voice.  
“Don’t be naive with the ways of adults.” Oren advised cheerfully. More rustling indicated that Yoko and Kouta had resumed fighting; Yoko’s mic had been hidden in her clothes, so Kouta couldn’t spot it in her ear, but Hideyasu found himself wishing they hadn’t put a mic on her at all. It was for the benefit of their employer, he was sure, but the mysterious synthetic voice most likely wasn’t in a situation that required him to act cheerfully and take orders while chaos deafened one ear.

The noise ended, and after a slight pause, Yoko gave a command--assumedly to Kouta.  
“Answer it.” Another second, and the synthetic voice began speaking.  
“Just hand the Sengoku driver over. Don’t you care about your sister?”  
“Drop the bluff!” Kouta was continuing to yell, and Hideyasu could still hear him over Yoko’s mic. “You’re lying about having Sis!”  
“There’s a confectionary shop to the southwest. Take a look.”  
“I invited her to an afternoon tea service.” Oren’s voice chimed in.

Hideyasu took this as his cue to check in on Akira again, in the showiest way he could manage.  
“How do you find our cake?” He asked politely, thankful that his earpiece was quiet now.  
“It looks delicious! Thank you very much!” Akira’s face lit up at the sight of Hideyasu, carrying the new tray of sweets and a teapot. It wasn’t hard for him to return an award-winning smile--her excitement was infectious, but he had a job to keep in mind. He turned his attention to the window, specifically to the building Kouta was on, and adjusted his glasses as threateningly as he could while Akira began babbling happily over the Mont Blanc.

“You see now?” The synthetic voice prodded, Akira Kazuraba is in our hands……. Yggdrasill’s project must proceed in secret. You threaten us, so we must remove your power…… This is your last chance. Give up the belt, Kouta Kazuraba.” Kouta responded with something Hideyasu couldn’t hear, then, “How slow you are. Jonouchi. Do it.”  
Hideyasu grinned--it had been so long since he last became Gridon, and he had a new driver to test out, too.  
“At last…” he muttered. He backed away from the window, putting on his new driver. It didn’t feel like the best idea, attacking an innocent non-combatant without warning while she was so happy over a simple thing like free cakes, but in a way, he figured that Kouta would hurl his driver willingly at Yoko and Oren before Hideyasu would even reach his sister.

He inserted his lockseed in the driver to start the transformation, ready for the signal to stop his end of the plan.  
“Taga-tin-tin-tin-ton-tin-tin-tin-tiiiiiiiiiiiin” a familiar voice--but not his belt’s voice--sang out. Hideyasu tilted his driver up, examining it in disbelief--it was impossible for Oren’s voice to be a side effect of the new driver. The belt continued to sing an imitation of Gridon’s transformation theme as Hideyasu tried to remove it--whatever was going to come from a zipper in space wouldn’t be his acorn, and most definitely wouldn’t be pleasant.

“MORON.” The belt cried, “Have you no shame?!” with the horror that whatever was about to happen to him couldn’t be stopped, Hideyasu didn’t respond quickly enough to brace himself for the consequences of his false transformation.

On the rooftop of a nearby building, Oren shook his head, amused, as the thud in his ear signaled the success of his trick; Hideyasu really _did_ need to learn how to weigh trickery against a good reputation, among other things.  
“Looks like I still need to train him more. I was right to switch the lockseeds.”  
“You…” The Kouta boy was still stunned.  
“What are you doing?” Yoko accused.  
“No rudeness shall befall a customer enjoying my shop’s sweets!” Oren proclaimed; despite what others may think, he was a man with morals--and the integrity of his shop came first.  
“So you intend to betray us?” The distorted voice crackled in his ear.  
“My mission is to collect the Sengoku Driver.” he corrected--harming his customers was a betrayal. This was just bending the details of the contract to his integrity. “The boy’s brought it, so all I need to do is take it through force.” He activated his transformation, “This is my way of carrying out a job.” _With straightforward combat_ , he thought, _not underhanded tricks, though they have their place_.

“The rest depends on you, Aquarius boy. Will you be good and give up the belt, or will you give it up after being beaten? Which do you prefer?” Oren twirled his spiked swords.  
“Neither!” Kouta retaliated, his belt and lockseed at the ready. Oren waited for his transformation to finish before launching his assault. The Aquarius boy was one of the better children in combat, but he was still trained by the brawls of the streets; he was easy to read and counter--after a few weeks of training, even Oren’s mentee would be able to counter these attacks. To top it off, Kouta was striking with more confidence than their previous battles should have given him--he had no sense in the difference of technique.  
“You’ve always come at me two against one!” Oren pointed out, holding him down with his blades, “You have no chance of winning alone!”

“In that case--” The younger rider whipped out another lockseed, exchanging part of his driver for a strange device and initiating a second transformation.  
“What’s that?” Oren didn’t get a verbal answer, but understood quickly after Kouta charged him; he struck with more strength than could be possible for his body--the second lockseed granted him significantly more power. Oren was put at a distinct disadvantage, and switched to the defensive; the odds of him finding out the melon rider’s identity was rapidly plummeting, but he’d still see the job to its end, to the best of his ability.

Kouta initiated a finisher, and Oren did the only thing he could--he followed suit. As he expected, he was no match for this new weapon of a suit, and was launched out of the building and onto a car below. He rolled off the vehicle, his transformation broken; in a way, he was glad that Hideyasu was not only unconscious, but in another building--he had no chance of seeing his mentor in this state.

Hideyasu woke up on the floor, Akira worryingly dabbing his face with a wet handkerchief. Blearily, Hideyasu noticed his teammates standing off to the side; one had taken her hair down--the handkerchief was pink. He sat up as best he could, straightening his glasses, trying to preserve his nonexistent dignity.  
"Boy." Oren came bustling through the shop door; Hideyasu bit back a miserable groan--this day was just one trainwreck after another. All he needed now was for Hase to show up with his team to send Hideyasu to the next world. 

The patissier grabbed his apprentice by the arm, half dragging him to the kitchen. The younger rider didn't bother fighting back or protesting--it didn't matter that his teammates were watching, it was too much effort and had no point. 

Oren brought him into the walk-in refrigerator, making sure the door was shut before verbally tearing into his apprentice. He got as far as "what part of 'royauté' did you not understand?!" Before Hideyasu tuned him out completely, opting to stare numbly at a spot on the floor for the duration of the rant. The patissier stopped in the middle to let out an aggravated sigh and evaluate the younger rider's comprehension; he had shut down--nothing was getting through. Oren grabbed the boy's jaw firmly, wrenching his gaze up to the patissier's and trying to ignore how lifeless his eyes had become.  
"If you so much as think about harming a customer again, you are out of my store." He enunciated the last six words in a strict staccato, " _comprende_?" 

Hideyasu nodded obediently, and Oren released him.The patissier squeezed his temples in exhaustion.

"Go home, boy, you're a mess."


	5. Chapter 5

Dirty dishes in soapy water--to Hideyasu, it was like an analogy of his life, except he was that one dish with god-knows-what crusted into that one corner that no matter how long he soaked it, refused to come out. Irritated, he finished his fifth attempt at cleaning this particular pan and stared at his handiwork. Just like the last four times, he had made absolutely no progress--what the hell was stuck in there so stubbornly?! That he had turned it into a representation of himself made his distaste for it that much stronger. 

He squeezed the dish tightly, then returned it violently to the sink with all his might; it made several satisfying clangs as it ricocheted off the stainless steel basin and its contents. He glared at the murky water--the stupid thing could just stay there forever as far as he was concerned. He reached in for a better-behaved mess to clean, but his hand surfaced with the pan he had just gotten rid of. With a grimace of disgust, he flung it back into the depths with considerably less effort exerted, through the ensuing racket wasn't much quieter. He didn't reach for another dish this time. 

"I do hope that's not how you treat your lovers, boy."  
Hideyasu spun around with an almost comically surprised face--Oren had seen the whole thing.  
"I--that's--I don’t--" the patissier waited with a hint of amusement at his apprentice's stammering.  
"I think it would be better to take your training outside, hmmm?" Oren turned on his heel and left, a slight wave of the hand indicating that the younger rider should follow him. Hideyasu hesitated, his muscles still aching from the last physical session, but he'd do anything to get away from that insufferable dish; he trotted after his mentor. 

It was hard for Hideyasu to decide if he had made an error in judgement; rather than passively counter-attacking, Oren had decided to take the offensive this time. Hideyasu could barely get back on his feet before his mentor's knee sank into his gut, knocking the breath out of him and filling his mouth with the taste of bile. On his hands and knees again, he spat the flavor out as much as he could between coughs. His mentor was oddly silent this time, not urging him to stand up faster or guard better--though Hideyasu figured that this had to be a lesson on defense. If it wasn't, then it had to be some sort of punishment, as Oren was using him as a punching bag. 

Hideyasu rolled away and to a crouching position to avoid getting hit by another strike when he wasn't ready; he couldn't defend effectively against his mentor, but he had to try something. He raised his fists and readied himself for a frontal attack; as he predicted, it was futile--Oren’s roundhouse kick to the side of head caught the younger rider before he could react. 

Head throbbing, he found himself in the dirt again, with no recollection of the fall. He spat out dust, then quickly ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth--amazingly, he still had all his teeth.  
"Are you done yet, boy?" Oren huffed and crossed his arms. Hideyasu took the opportunity for a breather, hoping the pain in his skull would dissipate soon. It wasn't decreasing in the slightest, but he was becoming used to it. Still, he decided to wait a little longer. While he lay in the dirt, a small, horrible thought began to worm its way into Hideyasu's mind. It was strategically disadvantageous, completely lacking in logic, and yet... 

Hideyasu forced one leg to move, to get under him, to prepare to stand again. Oren watched as his mentee struggled, unable to get off the ground. It felt cold to watch like this, but the patissier had learned two things from his time with the younger rider; the kid was more durable than he looked, and a persistent opportunist. 

The younger rider lunged from his position on all fours, proving his mentor's suspicions; the feeble leg he tucked under him was in truth a coiled spring. The assault itself was sloppy, and Oren easily deflected Hideyasu back into the dirt, but he had to commend the effort. More importantly...Oren evaluated how his mentee struggled to get up--it was genuine this time. What he was looking for in this training session, though... Hideyasu glanced up; his eyes met his mentor's, and the latter immediately knew he no longer needed to continue the beating.  
"Come on, boy," the patissier tilted his chin up, "it's time for the lesson proper."

Hideyasu's face lit up, his fullest attention on his mentor. Oren allowed himself a slight smile; the emotional exhaustion that had crept into the boy's system had finally given way. It was only the start; the younger rider had many more issues that would take more than just a beating to shake him out of it, but it was progress. 

Oren waited patiently for Hideyasu to brush himself off and hobble over. He started out with over-exaggeratedly slow punches, teaching the boy some simple self-defense maneuvers. Once he had picked apart the child’s technique and adjusted it to the proper one, he began to speed up the process until Hideyasu could execute the counter flawlessly on reflex. 

He had trained quite a few members of the French military, but this was Oren’s first time as a private instructor, let alone with such a young student. Maybe it was a personal quirk, unrelated to his age, but Hideyasu’s ability to change from the unresponsive corpse he had been since yesterday to the focused protege in front of Oren now was rather concerning. The patissier ran through a few more punches, trying to come up with the root of his mentee's instability and failing; he needed to be pushed--Oren had no doubt about that--but too much and he might shut down permanently. 

When Oren went to attack this time, he swiftly turned his usual step forward into a kick; the boy needed to be able to handle the unscripted. Countering kicks was much more technical and specific to the kick type, so he wasn't expecting much, but Hideyasu caught the similar direction of attack and dodged to Oren's backside to avoid retaliation from the older rider's arms. To finish his counterattack, Hideyasu even threw a sparring punch to his mentor's midriff. The patissier raised his eyebrows, and confusion flashed across the younger rider's face as he tried to calculate what mistake Oren would jump on. 

Instead, a warm smile spread across the patissier's mouth.  
"Impressive, boy." At Hideyasu's bewildered face, he ruffled his brown hair and added, "that was a sans défaut first try, you should be proud." It took a few seconds for Oren's words to sink in, but when they did, the younger rider leaned back, tilted his chin up and grinned cockily, pushing his glasses up further on his face.  
"Of course, it's only natural for someone like me."  
"Don't get ahead of yourself." Oren smirked and casually flicked Hideyasu's forehead; he grimaced, but continued smiling. "It's getting late--we'll continue tomorrow." He patted the other rider on the shoulder, walking with him back to Charmant. 

As a celebration of sorts, Hideyasu picked up a cake after his shift to drop by Invitto with; freshly baked, it was one of the popular ones, and therefore hard to come by. It was a practice pastry by one of the apprentices, and would have otherwise been eaten by the employees, but he didn't need to tell his teammates. Besides, he had sampled some of his peers' work before, and as far as he was concerned, Oren was the only one that could be dissatisfied with it. 

When he got to the Invitto base, he raised his hand tentatively to knock, then froze--he was the leader, he shouldn't be knocking. Yet, entering unannounced like he used to seemed wrong. Hideyasu lowered his hand as a conclusion began to form. 

He didn't belong here anymore. 

He could remember who would be at cram school right now, who was probably lounging on which couch--of which he knew every stain and how they got there--who had probably brought their boyfriend over--and yet...Invitto was no longer his home away from home, and even if Meiya and the others said they wanted him back, he knew that the opinion of a few girls didn't reflect the opinion of all of them. An unpleasant idea crept into his head--what they told him might not have even been their true thoughts. His team was usually honest with him, trusted him, but... what if they no longer thought of him as one of their own? 

He had seen it happen, many times, his teammates being polite to someone's face, then talking horribly about them as soon as they were out of earshot. What if no one actually wanted him back? What if him visiting would be more obnoxious than welcome? It wasn't just possible, but probable--Hideyasu wasn't dense; the girls were fond of him, but not that much.

He dug into his pockets for something to write with, scribbled a note on the cake's box, and put the box on the doorstep. He didn't look back when he left.


	6. Chapter 6

They met at Drupers, as they usually did--Hase and Hideyasu. It was odd, the latter couldn’t remember why they were meeting--he was usually more on top of such matters. In fact, he was the one to schedule most of these chats, often verbally dragging Raid Wild’s leader to the cafe over the phone. Now, though, he had nothing to say, while his friend chattered aimlessly about his teammates and a few other topics that didn’t aid Hideyasu in figuring out the gap in his memory. 

To cover for his lack of knowledge, he took a large spoonful of the parfait in front of him, barely getting it into his mouth.  
“Ah,” Hase paused mid-anecdote, “You’ve got something on--” he pointed tactlessly towards Hideyasu.  
“What? Where?” he ran his tongue around the outside of his mouth as much as he could, but the other rider shook his head--the food was still present. Hase stood and leaned over the table, wiping off a bit of whipped cream from Hideyasu’s shirt with his finger; Invitto’s leader glanced down, embarrassed that he had done something as unappealing as dribble food on himself, but the white smudge on his chest didn’t lie.  
“Th-thanks.”  
“Crap, I missed some.” Hase exercised his excellent table manners by licking the cream he had retrieved off his finger.

Hideyasu frowned, both at his friend's dining habits and his behavior; residue was to be expected with something like cream, but Hase seemed weirdly concerned about it, taking a seat next to his friend.  
“I can just clean it in the bathro--?!” Hideyasu’s voice shot up as the other rider leaned in to suckle the white blotch from his shirt. “Wh-wha--Hase--!” he stammered; the other boy pulled back enough for the brunette to see his face---and his troublemaker’s grin. Both Hideyasu’s eyes and mouth opened wide, unable to form a coherent protest before Hase moved forward again, his rough hands sliding his friend’s shirt upwards, pushing the thinner boy down on the booth’s seat, mouth tugging on Hideyasu’s handkerchief. He could feel the other boy’s warm breath on his neck and a draft on his exposed skin; Hase’s knee slid between his thighs as Raid Wild’s leader climbed on top of the seat. 

“Hase! Bando’s--the other people--”  
“What other people?” Hase surfaced from the other boy’s neck long enough to give him another wild grin; Hideyasu glanced down, past the other rider--the store was empty, eerily so, though he could have sworn it was bustling with life just a moment ago.  
“They could come back, we can’t--” Hase raised his eyebrows, a playful glint in his eye as Hideyasu tried to sit up.  
“Can’t what?” Invitto’s leader felt his cheeks heat up.  
“Th-that’s--” As Hideyasu tried to form an argument, Hase tucked his face back against the other boy’s neck and began sucking on it; whatever Hideyasu was going to say was cut short by a sharp gasp, and silenced further as Hase’s fingertips found his nipples. 

Hideyasu reached to pull his friend’s head from his neck, but only wound up tugging at his dark hair when he pressed his leg against Hideyasu’s groin. Hase moved down his partner’s throat, planting kisses sloppily along his thin collarbone and to his shoulder, pulling his shirt away when it interfered. His tongue found a sensitive spot; Hideyasu pulled his legs in involuntarily, his own thigh rubbing against Hase’s crotch in the process. 

Raid Wild’s leader paused briefly in his attack on his partner’s shoulder as a shudder of excitement coursed through his body; a small part of Hideyasu realized what he had just done, his leg able to feel the stiff member in his friend’s jeans, but the part of Hideyasu that was still capable of thought was drowned out by the deluge of physical sensation as Hase bit down on his shoulder. Invitto’s leader grasped haphazardly at dark hair and leather jacket as the warm, throbbing pressure in his groin increased. 

Hase released Hideyasu’s flesh from his mouth, kissing his partner sloppily as he slid a calloused palm down the thin rider’s midriff, unbuttoning his pants skillfully at the same time he slid his tongue into the other boy’s mouth. Rough fingers found their way into Hideyasu’s boxers, forcing his zipper to open as they progressed, Hase’s thick lips and crooked teeth pulling gently on his lower lip as his calloused palm brushed against Hideyasu’s pulsing-- 

Invitto’s ex-leader jolted awake as a warm liquid began to saturate his boxers. Swearing, he clambered out of bed as gracefully as a cat from a swimming pool, his sheets twisted around his leg, following him and making him stumble before he kicked them off. He turned to examine the bed and grimaced; even a meter away, he could see the creamy white liquid on his sheets. It reminded him of a certain whipped cream smudge on his team uniform, and he let out a frustrated huff, making a disgusted face at himself as some of the same goo started to run down his thigh, his offending organ innocently returning to its limp position. 

He hobbled awkwardly to the bathroom, trying to keep the mess from spreading across the floor as he walked, discarding his stained shirt and underwear on the tile floor when he entered and climbing into the shower. He braced himself for the cold water, too irritated to wait for it to warm up before hosing himself off and climbing out, half wet. 

Not bothering with a towel, he scooped up his boxers as neatly as he could and discarded them in his hamper, crossing to his bed and stripping the fitted sheets off roughly, adding them to the bin. He threw on another tank-top and fresh underwear and checked the time--four in the god-forsaken morning. Hideyasu sighed again and picked up his other sheet from the floor, giving it a quick examination--this one was still clean, at least. He spread it over his mattress, too lethargic to get a new set of sheets and put them all on, and flopped back on his bed. 

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly. Instead, the only thing that came to him was that he had had a wet dream about Hase. Revolted, his eyes snapped open--his body still wanted sleep, so he remained where he was, but he didn’t want to risk resuming the dream. He rolled over, crossed his arms, and huffed; he couldn’t stay awake forever, and the fact he could do nothing about it was irritating. 

He tried to think about Oren, to drive away sexual thoughts, but stopped when he realized it could lead to a wet dream with him, too. Maybe the Invitto girls… no, the only thing that came to mind was their many stories about how guys were sexualizing assholes that didn’t see them as people.

Counting sheep was something Hideyasu had always found nonsensical, and besides--the only use for “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight” was a dance routine, as far as he was concerned. He frowned slightly, evaluating the status of his body--yes, it was indeed more awake than asleep; returning to the land of dreams would be difficult, and he was more likely to spend the next couple hours tossing and turning with nothing to show for it. 

Leaving his bed for the day, he dug out his music player and headphones--it was four in the morning, and he had neighbors. He hit play on the device, strapped it on his upper arm, and plugged the headphones into his ears, a bit giddy--it had been such a long time since he last danced. He closed his eyes, waiting for the right time in the music to jump in-- 

_One, Two, Three, Four--_

It was a song he couldn’t forget if he wanted to at this point; he’d practiced with it for so long--the first song Invitto made a routine for, and the one they brought back frequently for the nostalgia. 

_Step, Step, Point, Shoot--_

His body moved easily, remembering the routine for its owner effortlessly; Hase was a brawler, Hideyasu had always been a dancer. But as the only boy on the team, he had been pressured into being the combatant for Invitto. He didn’t hate it--not when so many of his teammates had been bludgeoned by guys they had trusted in the past; he’d rather take their place than have them remember those times. 

_Five, Six, Seven, Eight--_

It was hard to get a stage, though, since the Invess games had started. Invitto had had a small stage to themselves, back when the teams took stages by fighting; assaulting a team composed of all girls and one girlish boy was a repugnant move, by even the crudest of standards. But fighting with lockseeds levelled the playing field, and no one hesitated to gang up on a group with smaller physical frames. 

_Step, Step, Snap, Pose--_

Hideyasu tilted his head up and flashed a smile at his invisible audience; the pose had always been his favorite part. At first, it was a chance for him to flaunt himself freely--later, it was a moment where his teammates flashed their individual roots; the ones that had moved across town, where dancing with their old teams was no longer feasible, the ones that had left their teams because of an ex they couldn’t stand to see, or didn’t feel safe around anymore, the ones that couldn’t dance how they wanted, and so changed teams--for a moment, they could use the moves carved in their bodies as deeply as this routine was engraved in Hideyasu’s. To an outsider, they all had an Invitto flair, but their leader could recognize the rough-hewn movement of an ex-Raid Wild, a slight ‘sizzle’ gesture with the wrist from a Red Hot refugee-- 

_One, Two, Three, Four--_

For just a moment, Hideyasu wasn’t alone in his room, dancing quietly in his boxers--he was back with his team, on stage, their small but faithful fans scattered throughout the crowd of curious passerby. 

_Spin, Step, Turn, Snap--_

He caught sight of himself in his full-length mirror and gave his reflection a seductive hair-toss as he continued the routine. It wasn’t the first time he had danced like this, nor did he particularly intend it to be the last. 

_Five, Six--_

Why? 

He hesitated, the music continuing on without him, much like his teammates had. Why was he with Oren? What was the point? He had wanted to get stronger because--because of his team, wasn’t that right? To get them the stage they deserved, one of those well-lit, large ones they always talked about? The kind where they wouldn’t have to watch their moves, lest they hit another Invitto member--the kind of stage they could dance freely on? Yet, Invitto was no longer his home--he had realized that the other night. 

Hideyasu sighed and pulled the headphones out by their shared cord, his earlier excitement completely dissipated. He checked the time again--four twenty-seven. He shot the clock a disgusted look, tossed his music player on the bed, and went to the kitchen to microwave whatever frozen thing looked like a good idea for breakfast. 

He skipped using a plate, heating and eating a pair of breakfast burritos in the box. It was completely against instructions, but it hadn’t killed him yet. While he chewed, he wondered when he had first started cooking them so crassly--he used to make them in the oven, for fuck’s sake--then remembered that it was Hase that had first introduced him to this unorthodox level of preparing junk food. He was also the one to serve Hideyasu pizza topped with ranch dressing, a pile of pizza rolls large enough to result in uneven heating, so that some were scalding and others were still frozen, and a smoothie that had several non-fruit items blended in, like mint and leftover curry. 

What was Raid Wild’s leader up to these days, anyway? Hideyasu finished off the first burrito--Hase was still probably dipping his hot wings in ice cream and drowning oreos in lemonade. But… aside from that, how was he doing? Hideyasu hadn’t heard of the other boy’s team dancing again--not that he got news of the teams much these days--but Charmant wasn’t too far from Raid Wild’s and Invitto’s territories, so it wasn’t that hard to see either team dance. 

Hideyasu bit his lip; Raid Wild dancing wasn’t his actual concern--more importantly, had Hase recovered from his betrayal? He had never before seen the expression Hase made when his partner stabbed him in the back; losing stages, getting their asses kicked--they had all spurred him into a mentality of retaliation. In a way, that was what prodded Hideyasu to run his mouth long after it was necessary--he had expected a backlash from his former comrade, not horrified silence. And if he was being absolutely, brutally, honest with himself… 

He examined the flakey crust of what he was calling food. Hase had done nothing to deserve him--Raid Wild’s leader may have protected Hideyasu with his own body, taught him his own crude method of fighting, invited him to his team’s base when Drupers was closed and fed him his own strange assortment of his favorite foods-- 

But he didn’t deserve someone who weighed him down and depended on him, used him and threw him away, abandoning him when he had never left their side in times of need. 

Hase was the only member of Raid Wild that hadn’t pissed off the Invitto girls to some degree or another, the only one from his team they didn’t have stories about--Hideyasu had understood why, finally, when the other team leader grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him passionately but quickly in the forest. 

Liking guys, though… was that really a reason for fate to give Hideyasu to him as a friend, a comrade--as a crush, even? 

Hideyasu chewed the last of the second breakfast burrito slowly. He knew the answer--he had always known the answer, in a way. 

No. 

Hase had never deserved Hideyasu. 

Hase had deserved better. 

Hideyasu wiped off his hands and went to get dressed--not in his team uniform or his work clothes, but some of the things in the back of his closet, unworn for a year or so. He shrugged into a grey t-shirt, possibly one of Hase’s--abandoned at his place early on in their partnership, he couldn’t actually remember--and an old set of jeans, leaving his glasses and putting on a hat instead. He glanced in the mirror--if he kept his head down, he probably wouldn’t be recognized. 

His mind made up, he headed out the door--he’d kill time by walking, so that someone would be present when he arrived; he needed to find Hase. Hideyasu had no idea what he’d say to him, if he got close enough to talk and if Hase didn’t punch his sleazy face in first, but he needed to at least see how the other boy was doing. 

He pulled out his phone and called Charmant; it would be empty at this time, but it had an answering machine that Oren checked personally, and Hideyasu had no other way of contacting him, really. He waited for the mechanical beep, then left his message.

"Oren, I can't come in today, I need to check on someone important."


	7. Chapter 7

Even with blurred vision from his lack of glasses--contrary to popular belief, they weren't fashion accessories--Hideyasu had no problems finding the Raid Wild base. Getting in was another matter; a large, run-down warehouse in a grass-and-weed-invaded gravel lot, it had a padlock on one rust-covered door--the other entrance was held shut on the inside by a heavy wooden beam. It was a makeshift lock Hase had made from nearby scraps--it looked like something used in ancient castles, and unexpectedly presentable as a result, but still possessed that thrown-together Raid Wild touch. 

It also meant the base could only be opened from the inside--the padlock had been abandoned with the building, the means of using the attached door permanently lost. Hase had explained that the first one of his team to arrive had to climb through a rusted hole in the building to unlock the functional door, but failed to mention its location. He had opened it, once, for Hideyasu, but Invitto's leader had waited by the entrance, a decision he now regretted as he paced the side of the building, squinting against sunlight and his bad vision as he examined the corrugated metal wall. 

"The fuck you doing?"  
Hideyasu spun toward the sudden speaker. He was one of Hase's teammates--even without his glasses, and despite the fact the other boy was only wearing part of his uniform, Hideyasu could still recognize him; the heaviest member of his team, his resourcefulness and quick thinking made him the strongest in a brawl, as well as Hase's second-in-command. Footsteps from behind Hideyasu announced the arrival of two more Raid Wilds; the base was hardly abandoned. Hideyasu did his best not to seem intimidated, but he had to admit that between his thin stature and lack of numbers, it wasn't convincing. Still, he decided to start the conversation.  
"Where's Hase?" 

One of the guys behind Hideyasu and a bit to the right, chimed in.  
"He hasn't come 'round since you stabbed him in the back, you fucking--" the first Raid Wild member silenced him with a glare and a step in the other kid's direction.  
"We're asking the questions. Who gave you the right to show your face here?" The first boy continued. Hideyasu suppressed a flinch at the elaboracy of the remark; Raid Wilds were rough, yes, but they weren't stupid like the other teams thought--it was more of a straightforward-ness. This one, though--Hase's ex-partner distinctly remembered him having a particularly extensive vocabulary at his command, even if he _did_ speak as crassly as the others most of the time. 

"I'm just looking for Hase."  
"You said that already. What for?" He cocked his head, evaluating Hideyasu.  
"Look, if he's not here, I'm leaving." Hideyasu moved to walk past, but the stand-in leader stopped him by snagging a fistful of shirt and pushing him back with the same fist.  
"I never said he wasn't here."  
"Your buddy there did." Hideyasu jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the Raid Wilds behind him. He moved to pass the other boy again, only to have him step to block Hideyasu's path.  
"You really don't want to talk, do you?" He mused softly; Hideyasu continued to hold his tongue--the thought of telling his intentions to anyone other than Hase was unbearable. 

"Fine. We'll do this _Raid Wild_ style." Hideyasu barely had time to recognize the phrase's meaning--half a second later, Hase's second-in-command's right fist was flying at Hideyasu's face. The patissier-in-training didn't have time to think; he stepped forward and to the side on instinct, his left hand parrying the other boy's forearm before the Raid Wild member could react, his right fist embedding itself in his opponent's gut on reflex. As the stand-in leader doubled over in pain, his face the portrait of surprise, Hideyasu didn't relish in his victory or his new, Oren-granted combat prowess. He was, to put it _Raid Wild_ style, absolutely _fucked_. An uneasy smile--or was it a grimace?--twitched at the edge of his mouth as the crunch of gravel signaled the approach of the two other boys. 

Hideyasu was trained in a handful of counters against one opponent; he had no chance against three of himself, let alone three experienced brawlers--and it _was_ three. He didn't dare delude himself into thinking his lone, weak punch could take down one of Hase's toughest friends. 

Even so, he turned to face opponents two and three--just in time for one to grab-tackle him to the ground. It didn't stun him as long as it would have when he was still a Beat Dancer--Oren's merciless sparring practice had seen to that--but it dazed him long enough for the two smaller boys to drag him to his feet and hold him for the one Hideyasu had attacked. The Raid Wild member wasn't shy about returning the favor, wasting no time sinking his fist into the rider's gut.  
Hideyasu doubled over reflexively as much as he could--he was held back by his captors still. His jaw suddenly rang out with pain and his vision became occupied by dozens of spots, as though a crowd of people had showered him with camera flashes. He was only conscious for a few more strikes, or at least, the beating became a blur in his memory.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was still frustratingly bright when Hideyasu came to in a weedy patch of gravel. He sat up slowly and grimaced, taking inventory of the new aches in his body and brushing off a few small rocks that had stuck to his cheek. He couldn't have been out for long, but the scraps of Raid Wild were nowhere to be seen. As he creaked uncomfortably to his feet, he silently hoped the beating had been enough for the other boys--or, at the least, that none of them had a marker handy--and that nothing crude had been drawn on his face.

He didn't pass many people on the way back to his apartment--most of Zawame's residents would be at work or school. Before long, Hideyasu had climbed the worn stairs to his apartment; he wearily fumbled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He gave it a half-hearted push to make it close as he entered, crossing his small apartment to the closet he kept his first aid kit in. 

Hideyasu dropped onto his bed with the kit, unlatching and opening it, then frowning at the contents; most of the useful sizes of bandages were gone. He was left with unreasonably large gauze patches, tiny band-aids that probably wouldn't cover a papercut, the only ointment left was burn cream, and he could _forget_ about compresses for his bruises. 

Disgusted, Hideyasu salvaged what usable-sized bandages he had, applying them vindictively to his cuts and scrapes with burn cream--it had to be better than nothing. 

"You're one hell of a wreck."

The memory surfaced suddenly, too quickly for Hideyasu to intercept it. He had come back to his apartment with Hase to treat their injuries after their embarrassing loss to Gaim and Ryuugen; one of many sessions that had depleted his healthcare means to such a pathetic state.  
"Then you shouldn't be shoving me at people to protect your own ass." Hideyasu had snapped back; Hase shot his partner a hurt look as he bandaged a scrape on Hideyasu's knee.  
"You're not supposed to get beat up, you're supposed to win quickly."  
"That Micchy punk had a gun. What's my dinky hammer supposed to do against a _gun_?!"  
"I dunno, you could throw it at him?" Hideyasu raised his eyebrows indignantly; the other rider ignored him to stick a band-aid on a scratch on his cheek. Hideyasu had wrinkled his brow as Hase's fingers brushed against his face, smoothing the bandage. "It can't hurt to try." He added.

Hideyasu looked down at the band-aid in his hands; Hase wasn't here to put it on him anymore. He couldn't banter with the other rider about his incompetence in combat, no one would shush him when the rubbing alcohol made him cringe--it was lonely, having to care for his own wounds like this. With a start, he realized he missed Hase's surprisingly tender touches as he dabbed on ointment or applied an herbal compress.

When he thought about Hase's kiss in the forest.... had he always felt that way? The gentle care he gave, how he sometimes paid for Hideyasu's parfait when he wasn't looking, even though Hase seemed to always be complaining he was broke...

Hideyasu treated the last scratch and sighed, then aimlessly glanced about his tiny apartment. A shirt, discarded on his ratty couch, caught his eye, and he got up and crossed the room to it. Covered in a downright unholy number of rhinestones and silver studs, it was a shirt that Hase had left behind for some reason or another. It seemed that Hideyasu was always returning the dumb things to their forgetful owner; he had long since lost count of how many times his friend had stripped to his undershirt to patch himself up, only to walk out the door that way, forgetting his other clothes.

He picked up the shirt, stuck his face in it, and took a deep breath. Ugh, it was _definitively_ unwashed--it _reeked_ of Hase.


	9. Chapter 9

Laying in bed for the next sixteen or so hours sounded like the perfect idea after Raid Wild's beating, but Hideyasu's stomach had other plans. When it started making audible noises, he forced himself out of bed and switched his roughed-up and dirt-covered clothes for a fresh set; something stylish, not a far cry from his team uniform.

He left for a small cafe, not far from his home; cooking was a bother, and his fridge was mostly empty, anyway. Wearily, Hideyasu picked out a small table and gave the waiter his order. The food had barely arrived when a girl took the seat across from him. He ignored her—the restaurant wasn’t particularly crowded, so he wasn’t sure why she had sat at an occupied spot, but he’d be done soon enough, and then she could have the table.

“I wanted to thank you for the cake,” Hideyasu glanced up from his meal and re-evaluated her, his fork--laden with a large piece of chicken--still in his mouth. He swallowed his mouthful, slowly realizing that she was no stranger.  
“Meiya.” Hideyasu couldn’t remember the last time he saw his friend without her team colors, let alone with her hair not only down, but curled. Her makeup was much heavier than usual and from a different color palette entirely, looking more like something from Raid Wild or Baron--heavy on the blacks and decorated with reds and golds. She beamed as his gaping mouth tried to form words through the shock.

“Makeup is a girl’s best friend, you know.” It took him a moment to reply.  
“No shit.” Meiya laughed at his graceful response; Hideyasu took the opportunity to inhale another bite of meat.  
“Hey… won’t you come back?”  
“I can’t.”  
“Is Oren really against dancing that much, or--“  
Hideyasu cut her off with a shake of his head.  
“If it’s about Hase--“  
“It’s… I can’t really explain it…”

Meiya’s lips curled into a pout.  
“How long have we known each other now?”  
Hideyasu sighed and looked away.  
“I can’t let you do this to yourself.” She continued.  
"Do what?”  
“Rebound with--” she raised her eyebrows and gave Hideyasu a patronizing look, “I’m sure he’s nice and all, but he’s too much older than you.”  
“Rebound.” Hideyasu repeated, scowling, waiting for an explanation.  
“You probably think it’s a secret, but--honestly? The whole team figured it out pretty quickly, and, I mean, we support you one-hundred percent, but--”  
“What are you talking about?”

Meiya's eyes darted to behind Hideyasu; her expression briefly flashed alarm, then she smiled warmly, putting her elbows on the table and cheerfully resting her chin in her hands. Old habit kicked in, and Hideyasu chuckled brightly in response, carving a bite off the brownie he had ordered and feeding it to her with practiced ease.  
"Say 'ahhhh'" he commanded; Meiya took the mouthful with a giggle, licking her lips afterward.  
"Mm- _mm_!" Hideyasu thought she was laying it on a bit too thick, but kept his smile plastered on his face, "It's even better than you said!" Hideyasu fed her another piece--she was the type to screw up when nervous; it'd be better if her mouth was occupied.  
"Well, you deserve the best, _Mei-mei_." He cringed inwardly--  
"Aw, _baby,_ you're too good to me."  
\--and 'Mei-mei' apparently agreed that his impromptu name was awful. Oh well.

Hideyasu continued to play the doting boyfriend while occasionally glancing about the cafe and trying to dispose of the meal. In his peripheral vision, he finally found what he was searching for; a tall guy that Meiya had occasionally brought to Invitto's hangout--her boyfriend, or, based on how she started acting when she saw him, her _ex_ -boyfriend. Hideyasu took a bite of vegetables, making sure he got some sauce on the side of his mouth in the process; he knew where the audience was, it was time for a show--until he could pay the bill and leave, at least. Meiya caught the opportunity in seconds, moving around the table and perching on Hideyasu's lap, casually entwining her hands behind his neck.  
"You're such a messy eater~" she leaned in and kissed off the smudge; as her tongue brushed lightly against the corner of his mouth, Hideyasu couldn't help remembering his weird dream about Hase. He remembered it being more pleasurable than this charade, but he brushed the thought away; it had only been a dream.

It felt like an eternity had passed before the waiter finally returned. Hideyasu paid in cash, and without waiting for his change, slung his arm around Meiya’s shoulders and walked her out of the cafe. She reached up to entwine her fingers with the hand hanging off her shoulder, leaning against him, a maneuver that had taken some practice to get used to, but now made them flawlessly look like a couple.

They continued to walk that way, even when the cafe was out of sight, and Hideyasu was sure Meiya’s ex wasn’t tailing them; Meiya hadn’t let go of his hand, so he left his arm where it was. Becoming awkwardly conscious of the warmth of her body, he decided to distract himself with conversation.  
“So, about what you were saying before in the cafe--some secret of mine?”  
“Ah, well--” the heat of the moment gone, Meiya turned red as she spoke, “That thing with Hase--that was because he dumped you, right?”  
“ _What_?”  
“Weren’t you going out?”  
“No? Why would you think that?”  
“But… you’re gay, aren’t you?”

Hideyasu stopped walking, his jaw hanging open dumbly.  
“ _Huh?!_ ”  
“You’re not?” Meiya seemed genuinely surprised by his reaction, “But we all were sure--”  
“The _whole team_ thinks I was _dating Hase_?!”  
“And then he dumped you--that’s why you refused to fight Baron for him.”  
Hideyasu couldn’t manage any response better than gaping at her, wide-eyed. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to form an intelligent response.

“But--I--you guys-- _Hase?!_ ” He squeaked.  
"Who else would it be? You two were always having those parfait dates at Drupers--"  
"They were _strategy meetings_!" Hideyasu enunciated every syllable of 'strategy' in a staccato. Meiya rolled her eyes.  
"Two guys eating fruity desserts in a private booth?"  
"Yes! Strategy meet--"  
"Even when you've never made a pass at a girl?"  
"Why is this suddenly only about me?!"  
"Because I've known you since second grade, and you've never so much as had a crush!"  
"Th-that--I've just got picky standards." He crossed his arms indignantly, Meiya disdainfully measured him up with a sideways look.  
"What do you jerk off to?" This time it was Hideyasu's turn to flush pink.  
"Nothing!"  
"Oh come on."  
"Not everyone fantasizes while they do that!" He protested; his mind, however, dredged up the dream he had had last night.  
"You've seen me--hell, most of Invitto--naked, and you _never_ got a hard-on!"  
"You don't even know how this thing--" he pointed quickly to his crotch, "--works!"

Meiya replied with a dismissive snort; it began to dawn on Hideyasu that she was significantly more experienced with the male genitalia than he had assumed, and he turned a deeper shade of crimson.  
"Not everyone's so _sensitive_!" He spluttered; Meiya merely cocked an eyebrow.  
"If you say so."  
"I'm not gay!"  
"Bi?" Meiya smirked playfully.  
Hideyasu responded with an exasperated sigh.


End file.
